


Give You the World

by DylanTheDman



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Multi, Open Marriage, Sugar Baby Connor, Sugar Daddy Wayne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DylanTheDman/pseuds/DylanTheDman
Summary: Connor didn't expect to go first overall, Connor also didn't expect to go to the Oilers, but Connor expected least of all that he'd become Wayne Gretzky's Sugar Baby.So, excuse him if he needs a minute to wrap his head around this.





	1. Goodnight, and Congratulations

The day of the draft went so fast for Connor, it made his head spin; it was perfect, but somehow nothing like he imagined. Getting picked first, the Oilers, Dylan, and the tears in his mom’s eyes were things he would never forget, even if it wasn’t his first choice. Connor had been hoping for Toronto to pick him, but so was Dylan, and Mitch, and probably every other draftee from everywhere but Quebec. Connor was very happy for Mitch, and wasn’t going to be disappointed at having gone first overall, plus, if he was needed anywhere it was Edmonton.

It was a day filled with things Connor hadn’t expected. Even going first overall.

Connor knew he was a good hockey player, but sometimes he didn’t get his own hype. He still thought of himself as a boy who thought hockey was fun, not a once-in-a-generation superstar. He didn’t understand why Jack Eichel, a player Connor thought of as his equal, didn’t get nearly as much credit. At the end of the day, everyone goes out on the ice because they love the game, not because they were born to do it. He just didn’t see why everyone thought he was going to save Edmonton. He was just another player.

But the only thing that truly stopped Connor in his tracks came hours later.

After the draft, and after the feeling of spinning had lessened, Connor returned to the hotel with his family. His mom was more wired then he was, and couldn’t be calmed, so Connor happily let her pace around the lobby, and chatter away.

Because Connor was focusing so hard on his mom, and how she all but shone when she was so happy, he didn’t get anything from outside their bubble. The only thing important to him in that moment was his mom, and how much he loved her.

“You can’t imagine how afraid I was where you were ten, and your father got laid off.” She squeezed Connor’s hand. “That’s why I’m so glad you got this.” She felt the sleeve of Connor’s jersey with her other hand.

Connor was glad too—and that was an understatement. It was extremely lucky that Connor was even drafted, because he almost had to give up hockey altogether.

When Connor was ten, his mom was a stay-at-home, and his dad was making most of the money. They were all happy, his parents loved each other more then ever, Connor was excelling in the sport he loved, and it seemed like nothing could rain on their parade.

His father getting laid off put a damper on that pretty abruptly. Connor couldn’t remember every detail—he was only ten—but with the chance of a lot less income, hockey seemed like it might be in danger. The expensive entrance fees, a new set of gear every year, and multiple sticks that could cost hundreds of dollars each suddenly looked a lot less feasible.

Connor had a habit of getting so far into thought, that he was dead to the world. Only his mom’s hand, warm in his, and her faint words made it though, but he wasn’t really hearing. 

What pulled Connor out of that place, so much so he was startled, was a voice. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting a good talk,” a deep, but gentle voice interjected politely.

Drawing a breath of surprise in, Connor crashed back to earth. His mom had stalled, and for good reason. The man before them was a tall, and thin man, with a big smile, and deep lines surrounding it. His blue eyes almost crossed the line into eager, and a head of hair that not most fifty-four year olds could boast. Not to mention, quite the regal nose. A man who all of Canada, and most of the world, could recognize.

Wayne Gretzky.

“N-no.” Connor instinctively shook his head, and pushed through his stuttering. It wasn’t every day that the best hockey player in the world just happened to run into Connor at his hotel. They were lucky it was in Florida, and nearing eleven p.m. any other time, or place, and they’d probably get stampeded.

“Would it be alright if we talked for a while?” the question was meant for Connor, but Mr. Gretzky directed it at his mother, like the polite man he was.

“Of course,” Connor’s mom answered happily, and let go of Connor’s hand for the first time in an hour. Looking up at Connor, she smiled, “I’ll be in your father and I’s room, talk as long as you’d like.” She and Mr. Gretzky shared a smile as she retreated toward the elevators.

With his mom gone, Connor felt about as useful as a wagon without wheels, and that he didn’t pee himself felt like a personal victory. He didn’t think he could make eye contact without peeing though, so he waited for Mr. Gretzky to make the first move while he watched where his mother had been.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Mr. Gretzky began, and Connor knew he couldn’t ignore the man who essentially made the team he’d be playing for. Upon turning, Mr. Gretzky looked as friendly as before, smile a little more relaxed, but eyes just as welcoming.

“Believe me, sir,” Connor smiled, “I’m the one who’s honored.” 

Mr. Gretzky’s smile became wide again, and he let out a laugh at that. Placing one hand on Connor’s shoulder, he directed both of them out of the middle of the lobby, and to the lounge area, somewhat obscured from the door by large leafed plants. A quiet, and close area that demanded a low volume.

“I wanted to come to the draft, but I didn’t want to take any attention away from you,” Mr. Gretzky said as they sat down on the small couch. The cramped nature of the couch didn’t bother Connor until it seemed like he couldn’t get an inch to himself. He’d never back away though, not when someone like Mr. Gretzky wanted to speak to him, and him alone.

“I actually probably would have appreciated that,” Connor admitted, “It was just… a lot.” Connor, in his nerves, and awe couldn’t come up with a word to describe it accurately.

“Overwhelming?” Mr. Gretzky supplied sympathetically.

“Yeah,” Connor agreed, “Almost too much to handle—I mean, I know you know what that feels like.”

“You can bet I do,” Mr. Gretzky chuckled, “And it doesn’t ever go away, but you’ll get better at letting it roll off of you.” Connor felt the warmth of a palm on his knee, assuring and firm, but didn’t look away from Mr. Gretzky’s face now, entranced, and not daring to disrespect. “I know you will.”

Feeling a kinship with Mr. Gretzky, Connor started to feel his nervousness ebb away. They were more alike then any two people in the sport (save maybe Crosby), and now that Connor was fated to play for the Oilers, it was like history was repeating itself. While Connor had been touted as the Next Big Thing, and Mr. Gretzky initially received bad projections, they would both become seen as the saviors of Edmonton—a burden too great to put on any one person. Mr. Gretzky had handled it with grace, and Connor hoped he could be just a fraction of what Mr. Gretzky had been to the city.

“Thank you, Mr. Gretzky,” Connor said, more softly even then the intimate space demanded.

With a different, now proud, and fond smile, Mr. Gretzky said, “There’s no need to thank me, and I prefer Wayne.” He gave Connor’s knee a gentle squeeze, and stood.

“Wayne…” the word felt strange in Connor’s mouth, but he stood in tandem. “I still have to say thank you,” he insisted. It was extremely thoughtful for Wayne to seek him out, and make a connection to let him know he was there to care for Connor as a person, not just a stat machine.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Wayne shook Connor’s hand, and hesitated before he went, “I would like to make plans to get lunch with you tomorrow. So we can talk while you're rested.” Wayne smiled again.

“Yes—of course.” Connor fished around for his phone, and gave Wayne the number.

“Goodnight, and congratulations,” Wayne patted Connor’s shoulder fondly, and took his leave.

Connor reeled, knees shaking, and couldn’t figure out the twisting feeling in his stomach.


	2. Timepiece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minutes and years.

Connor woke up the next morning at seven, still too excited to sleep. The entirety of the day before played out like a dream, one that Connor couldn’t stop cheesing about when he reminded himself it was all real. He was a drafted NHL player, an adult, and about to make plans with Wayne Gretzky for lunch like they were good friends.

Reasonably, Connor lounged in bed until nine, because he knew his parents were tired from the night before. He couldn’t wake them up just because he was like a kid who couldn’t sleep the night before a big trip, except he was an excuse for a grown man who couldn’t sleep the morning before spending time with a childhood hero.

Connor found it completely reasonable for his heart to skip in anticipation.

The call came around ten that morning, right after Connor had finished eating breakfast with his parents, and had returned to his room.

His phone vibrated with an unfamiliar number, but Connor jumped to answer it. “Hello?” he said briskly.

“Connor?” the same pleasant voice from last night asked.

“Yes. Wayne?” Connor responded.

“Ah,” Wayne continued, sounding somehow even more bright, “Good morning.” Connor could hear the smile in his tone.

“You too,” Connor smiled in turn. “I take it we’re still on for lunch?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Wayne chuckled. “I had a place in mind, near your hotel. We could get a back room, and talk. How does that sound to you?”

“Perfect.” Connor glanced toward his suitcase, wondering if he had any other button down then the one he wore yesterday. “When should I be there?” Connor could definitely persuade his mom to let him borrow the car if Wayne Gretzky was involved.

“I’ll pick you up at twelve-thirty,” Wayne offered amiably. Connor almost hesitated after that; it really was no big deal to drive himself, but this wasn’t just any old friend he was meeting up with for guy-time.

Seeing no way he could shoot down Wayne Gretzky, Connor simply agreed.

…

After fussing a moment with his hair, a car pulled up to the pickup curb of the hotel. A beautiful, shiny car, that Connor figured cost more then his childhood home. It was to be expected, but seeing one so close was stunning, and Connor couldn’t stop admiring it long enough to get in. The passenger window rolled down, and Wayne’s smile greeted Connor.

“Hey, stranger,” he said happily, “Come on.”

With the trance broken, Connor pulled the handle, and got himself situated in the smooth leather seat. He felt as if he shouldn’t touch anything with his mortal hands, so he kept them in his lap. As Wayne pulled away from the curb, the car even hummed, and accelerated richly.

“Did you sleep well?” Wayne asked.

Having almost forgotten he wasn’t alone, Connor nearly jumped, but recovered quickly. “I didn’t get much, but yeah.” 

Wayne shifting gear drew Connor’s attention to his hand. Weathered, and with decades of experience, Connor could have gotten caught up in that alone, but it was Wayne’s watch that held his eye.

“Still riding high?” Wayne smiled in his direction, but only for a moment before returning to the road.

The sun glinted off the glossy, black face, and sparkled against the obsidian wrist chain. Rose gold hands, and details; it was truly the most elegant watch Connor had ever encountered. Now wasn’t the time to ooh and aah over Wayne’s possessions, though.

“Yeah,” Connor smiled back. He kept smiling until they reached the place Wayne had picked.

It was a nice Italian restaurant in a breezy outdoor shopping center, only a mile away from the hotel. Connor didn’t see why Wayne wanted to pick him up, when he could have easily walked, but he wasn’t going to start asking questions now.

As Wayne had said, a private room was reserved for them, with salad and sparkling water waiting in advance. Being as Connor was much more used to Chili’s, it was a bit of a departure from his norm.

Sitting down, Connor thanked god there was only one fork and knife; if there had been different utensils for fancy courses, Connor thought he would have started hyperventilating.

“What did you have in mind to talk about?” Connor asked once he’d slid his chair all the way in.

“Firstly, I wanted to get to know you,” Wayne said while smoothing his napkin out in his lap. “We can talk about hockey when we get to it.” He smiled.

Connor floundered; where should he start? Whenever someone asked about Connor McDavid, person, he forgot everything about himself that wasn’t hockey. What did he like? What made him get up in the morning? What were his personality traits? What was he without hockey?

Start there, Connor figured.

“My life has revolved around hockey for so long, that I feel like its part of me, really.” Connor shrugged, and took a swig of the bubbling water. The feeling of it on his tongue, with no flavor immediately induced a cringe. 

Holding in a chuckle, Wayne said, “It’s an acquired taste,” as Connor set the glass far away from himself.

“Anyway,” Connor digressed, and glared distrustfully at the glass, “I obviously came from humble beginnings.” This was the first time Connor had been exposed to dining as formal as this, and hadn’t decided if he liked it yet.

“Is that so?” Wayne prompted, sipping his own carbonated water.

“Yeah. I can’t say my family was poor, but we definitely weren’t rich. We had to make every paycheck count, and my dad almost lost his job when I was ten.” Connor hunted through his salad with his fork, picking the unions out, and setting them aside. “For, like, four months, my parents were debating whether or not they could keep me playing hockey…”

“Really?” Wayne encouraged Connor to continue when he trailed off.

“My dad kept his job, of course, but it was a really hard time, but it helped me realize how much the sport means to me. After that was when I started training with purpose, you know? Cause I never knew if my next game would be my last.” Having separated all the unions, Connor set out on the cherry tomatoes next, to have something to look at other then Wayne.

That close call was something Connor didn’t necessarily like to think about, but it was important for Wayne to know, if he really wanted to know Connor. As Connor paused, their food came, even though Connor knew they didn’t order.

“Oh—“ Wayne jumped to explain. “I ordered for us both when I made the reservation.”

Connor took one look at the chicken and pasta smothered in red, cheesy sauce, and knew it would be too much not to offer to pay his half.

“At least let me pay for my meal,” Connor said, and made to dig his wallet out of his pocket, but froze when Wayne held up his hand.

“Nonsense, Connor,” he smiled, “My treat. Keep telling me your story.”

“Okay,” Connor settled in his seat again, but not without a little guilty quirk of the lips. “Well, that was pretty much it. I just, like, appreciate the game way more, and I’m a lot more humble because it, because you never know what someone has going on at home.” Connor ended his story with a shrug, just as he had begun it.

Wayne took a moment to let Connor’s story sink in, then nodded slowly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I’m very glad with what you got out of it. Not many kids can say they almost had to quit then cam back to be the best in—“ And Connor couldn’t take that compliment.

“I don’t think I’m best,” he denied.

“You’d be the only one who think that. In this room, at least,” Wayne chuckled. Connor couldn’t try to deny Wayne his own opinion, but he shrugged, and paid much-too-close attention to cutting into his food.

“You’re a phenomenal player, Connor, and I hope you see that one day,” Wayne reached across the table, and laid his hand over Connor’s wrist, grabbing his attention. Wayne’s watch caught the sunlight from the wide window, and Connor admired it again. This close he could see the numbers were also inlaid in rose gold, and a designer emblem he didn’t recognize.

“I for one couldn’t be happier that you’re an Oiler,” Wayne squeezed Connor’s wrist gently. Looking up to Wayne’s face again, Connor was soothed by the gentleness in his eyes. No exasperation, no pushing, only confidence that Connor lived up to his own hype. Still, Connor was too humble to brag about himself—even to himself.

“Thank you, again Wayne,” Connor said sincerely.

The food was amazing, but Connor found himself barely able to finish half of it; it was so much, and so rich. They ate their food in comfortable peace, like they had already known each other for years, and were familiar enough to be silent together. With ease like this, Connor hoped to see a lot more of Wayne. Connor didn’t know how to describe him, but he liked Wayne a lot. He wasn’t exactly familial, like a father, or uncle, but more like a close friend; someone who understood Connor like no one else could, despite decades between them.

Every once in a while, Connor would glance up to watch Wayne move. He’d check his phone, cut his food, and generally exist, and it was nice. More then once Connor would get caught on that watch.

“That’s a really nice watch,” Connor said when he finally felt confident enough to break the silence.

“Thank you.” Wayne glanced at it fondly, so used to it he barely looked at it anymore. “I think it’s nice too,” he chuckled.

“Who is it by?” Connor asked, fully intending to look it up afterward, but highly doubting he’d be able to afford it, even on an NHL salary. Wayne rattled off a French name, and Connor thought it may be better that he had no idea how to spell that. Hiding his slight disappointment, Connor nodded, and returned to eating.

The afternoon went back to relaxingly silent, Wayne fiddling with his phone on the table, and Connor debating on going to find their waitress for a box. He was just about to get up, when Wayne asked casually, “What’s the measure of your wrist?” focusing on the phone’s screen.

Hesitating, Connor glanced at his wrist, and drew his brows together. Connor didn’t know, but—

“Wayne, no,” Connor shook his head when he realized what Wayne was insinuating. 

“It’s nothing,” Wayne brushed it off, “You deserve it after working so hard to get here.” His eyes begged for Connor to let his do it, but Connor couldn’t possibly—he couldn’t even imagine how expensive it was.

“That is absolutely too much!” Connor widened his eyes, and Wayne still tapped away at his phone.

“It’s only five thousand,” Wayne dismissed, and Connor gaped.

“Absolutely not!” Connor tried to grab for Wayne’s phone, but his reflexes hadn’t faded. Wayne snatched it up, grabbed Connor’s outstretched wrist, and looked at him pointedly.

“I want to do this for you,” he insisted, with a tinge of amusement under his hard expression, “Please let me.”

The determination in Wayne’s eyes didn’t seem like it was going anywhere; so, Connor sighed heavily, and sat back with a pout. “Fine,” he gave in. With that, Connor watched Wayne’s expression lift again, to utter delight. He clicked around on his phone excitedly, punched his credit card number in then grinned at frowning Connor when he was done.

“It’ll take sometime to come in, and I’ll have to go to Montreal to pick it up.” Wayne slid his watch off his wrist, and gestured for Connor’s hand, “But you can try mine on in the meantime.”

Connor reluctantly held his hand out, and Wayne slipped the beautiful watch over his hand. Wayne’s fingers brushed his skin, and it made Connor want to shiver, but he held still. Once the watch was fastened, Connor noticed how heavy it was, but also how nice it looked against his skin. It’s black majority contrasting against his pale wrist.

Connor looked into the ticking face, and was suddenly overwhelmed to think he’d own something so classy, and sophisticated. It was so thoughtful, and nice of Wayne to notice how much he liked it, and to buy it for him without batting an eye. Why he was being so nice was lost on Connor, but he was starting to like being treated with such esteem, even if it was by someone he wasn’t on the same level with.

While the watch was nice, Connor had needed their talk even more. Someone within the team caring so deeply was unheard by Connor, and the way it made him feel to have someone genuinely checking up on him was indescribable.

With the threat of touched tears, Connor dropped his hand, and looked at Wayne again, who was smiling without even thinking, like Connor was the best thing in the world.

“I don’t even know how to thank you,” Connor said.

Wayne looked away from Connor, blinked, and thought. “You never have to worry about it being ‘too much’ if I offer, okay?” Wayne was so taken by Connor he couldn’t think straight. 

He’d known the Oilers had gotten a good player, but couldn’t have dreamed of someone as wonderful as Connor. Connor was an amazingly humble person, and it was the least Wayne could do to give him something nice. In fact, it filled Wayne with so much joy to see Connor admire the watch, that he knew he’d toss Connor an expensive gift (or a few) to see how Connor bashfully loved it. 

Maybe, if he could, Wayne would give Connor the world just to see how it made him glow.

“Okay,” Connor said softly, absently running his fingers over the watch’s wrist chain.


	3. Permission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is a large part of any healthy relationship.

Upon coming home to Janet, there was nothing that could have brought Wayne off of cloud nine. Connor had woken up a part of him that seemed to have packed up, and left long ago, after having been married for years. Wayne loved Janet with all his heart, it was just that they’d gotten so used to each other, there wasn’t any surprise left. They knew each other inside and out, but the newness of Connor was exciting.

“Was he everything the media promised?” Janet asked as she strolled into the kitchen, joining Wayne for breakfast.

“And more,” Wayne answered briskly, ever a morning person.

“I took him to lunch, and I was fascinated by how much depth he had. It seems like every year the prospects get more and more cocky and entitled.” Wayne shook his head slightly, and sipped his coffee, thinking to put his old-man displeasure with the youth to the side. “Connor was the most polite and interesting teenager I’ve ever met. I’d even say one of the most impressive people I ever met.”

“You seem like you might have a little crush on him.” Janet teased, and went about taking the carton of orange juice from the fridge.

“What makes you think that?” Wayne responded, and cringed inwardly at how quickly it came out.

“Hun,” Janet tried to hold back giggles, “You’re blushing.”

Wayne rubbed at a traitorous cheek. He’d hoped Janet was still drowsy enough that she wouldn’t notice.

“Alright,” Wayne sighed, “He’s amazing, and I may have bought him a watch.”

Without looking up from pouring the juice into her glass, Janet nodded casually.

“And—trust me—I know he’s too young for me, and he probably thinks of me like grandfather, but I wish you could have been there to see him,” Babbling like a man trying to talk his way out of trouble, Wayne waited for Janet to get upset. “He’s so shy, and he’s so humble that I couldn’t-not buy it for him. I just—he’s—“

“Wayne, I’m not mad,” Janet interjected.

“You aren’t?” Wayne stalled, stunned.

“No.” Janet sat across the table from Wayne. “You didn’t cheat on me, and I’m glad you’re telling me this. I’ve always wanted to have a relationship where we would never feel like we had to keep secrets; you know that.”

Never more thankful for his wife, Wayne reached over the table, and took Janet’s hand. He’d gotten so lucky to find a woman who loved and trusted him so much, and all he wanted was to be the same for her, that’s why he felt so bad for having feelings toward Connor. He’d felt like he betrayed Janet’s trust just by wanting to ‘date’ Connor (if that was the right way to phrase it). If anyone could help him decipher his feelings, it would be her.

“So,” Janet digressed, “You were saying?”

Taking a deep breath, Wayne began, “He’s wonderful. He’s so different from all the prospects I’ve met. When we were having lunch, he seemed so amazed with it all, and I remembered how lucky I am to be able afford this life.” Wayne glanced around the spacious kitchen of their ridiculous house. “I took the corvette to pick him up, and I almost felt like I was bragging, because I could tell he’d never seen anything like it.”

“A lot of those kids don’t come from families that are as well funded as us,” Janet chuckled in agreement.

“I know, but do you really think about it anymore? We’ve lived like this for so long, that I forget we’re the unusual ones.” Wayne asked.

“Sometimes I forget, but then I watch the news,” Janet laughed. Wayne chuckled too, and stroked her thumb with his.

“I’ve never been more aware of myself then when he told me that he almost had to quit hockey.” Wayne let that surprise Janet quiet. “His father almost lost his job, but luckily, he didn’t. It really explained why Connor is so humble, but it definitely made him more high-strung, and worried. That’s why I bought him a watch—one like my Piaget—but he almost wouldn’t accept it.”

“I didn’t think that was a very expensive watch,” Janet said, almost thinking aloud.

“Neither did I, but that’s where I remembered we’re not everyday people—plus, I may have lowballed the price so Connor would take it.” Wayne shrugged.

“What did you tell him?” Janet asked.

“I told him six-thousand, but I guess that’s only inexpensive to us.”

“Honey, that’s a twelve-thousand dollar watch,” Janet chuckled at her husband’s expense. She had been joking about it being not ‘very expensive’.

“Well, he took it eventually, so I did something right,” Wayne laughed too.

“You seem to be really taken by him,” Janet observed, once their laughter faded.

Nodding, Wayne admitted, “I am. Hopelessly.”

“Do you think he might feel the same?” 

“I don’t know.” Wayne looked down, sadly. “He’s only eighteen, I can barely read those kids unless it’s painfully obvious. I can’t tell if Connor is just shy, or shy because he has some sort of feelings for me. He makes me feel so old, but at the same time, he makes me feel like a teenager again.” A helpless shrug later, Wayne had placed his head in his free hand.

“Do you think it could be because you like being generous, and finally found someone you can shower with gifts?” 

Pausing once more, Wayne was stunned. The question was so accurate, but he hadn’t even known it was until Janet said it. It was an underlying worry he’d had, that it wasn’t Connor himself, but just the act of giving gifts, and getting someone’s happiness in return. Though, there was something Wayne couldn’t deny (even though he kind of wanted to), and that was that he was struck by how handsome Connor was. When he’d first encountered Connor in the hotel, he’d almost been tempted to try and kiss him. 

That was where Wayne felt old; he knew Connor could have anyone—he was the first overall—easily someone younger then Wayne.

“I don’t think so,” Wayne answered honestly, but left out those other parts.

“It is nice to share my good fortune, but I don’t think that’s it. I mean—I didn’t do that for you, because you were already grown, and doing very well for yourself as well… Connor is just… A very good-looking boy, and he looked even better when I let him try on my watch.” Wayne hesitated, picking all the right words. “He looked so grateful, and I knew I couldn’t have that just once.”

Janet took her turn to pause, gazing into her glass like a crystal ball. Wayne wanted to see what she was seeing, because he’d always fancied her the wise one in the marriage. It seemed like she’d thought for hours, before looking at Wayne.

“You have my permission.” She picked up her juice, and took her first sip.

On the inside, Wayne was doing cartwheels, but he kept it on the inside.

He really was blessed to have the best wife in the world.


	4. Everything to Gain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inadvertently wise Mitch Marner.

Connor, on the other hand, had… decent… friends to talk to—definitely not perfect wives—but Dylan and Mitch were all he had. The two were like his brothers, best friends, and peers all rolled into one. He figured they would be the only ones who would understand—or try to understand—what he was feeling.

Honestly, Connor thinks he should have known better.

With Mitch, at least.

“You should have tried to blow him,” Mitch tsk’d, like he was disappointed in Connor.

They were spending their last off-season together in Toronto, before they were broken up, sent to the NHL, or back to junior. It meant a lot that they’d spend the last days of their childhoods together, because one door was closing, but another was opening too.

“Mitch.” Dylan rubbed forehead.

“What?!” Mitch demanded incredulously. “All I’m saying, is if Wayne freaking Gretzky wanted to meet me, and tell me how great I am—I’m absolutely sucking his dick.”

“Mitch!” Dylan repeated, irritated.

“I’m tryna’ bang an old man, Dylan!” Mitch shot back.

Connor felt sorry for everyone in the Starbucks.

“This isn’t about you!” Dylan reminded forcefully then turned back to Connor, who hadn’t even been able to finish the story. “Continue.”

“Anyway,” Connor glared at Mitch, who stuck his tongue in his cheek, and nodded suggestively. “We went to lunch, talked about my childhood, and then he bought me a watch.”

Dylan squinted. “Why did he buy you a watch?”

“I told him I liked his watch, and then he bought me one.” Connor was still having a hard time believing that the encounter had really happened, and was lingering in a state of something close to shock. He’d hoped, foolishly, that Mitch and Dylan would help; they were somehow not helping.

All they did was blink at Connor, until something dawned on Mitch.

Gasping loudly, no doubt alarming the other people in the Starbucks, Mitch leaned in close to Connor. “Do you think he wants to be your Sugar Daddy?” Mitch asked scandalously.

“And you think I’m dumb?” Connor rolled his eyes. Seriously, Mitch couldn’t advise him to blow Wayne, then act like what he’d just said was scintillating. 

“I’m serious!” Mitch’s voice came dangerously close to cracking. “Why would he just buy you a watch?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure it’s not because he wants to be my Sugar Daddy,” Connor defended. Truthfully, Connor felt a little too on the defensive.

Something between he and Wayne hadn’t felt normal. Being alone with him, Connor felt the electricity in the room. The way Wayne had delicately slipped the watch onto Connor’s wrist had paused everything within him—his breathing, his thoughts, his movement—to give himself completely over to the brushes of Wayne’s fingers on his skin.

“Hey—“ Mitch snapping his fingers next to Connor’s ear brought him out of a daze “—Earth to McDavid.”

“What?” Connor nearly snapped, quickly growing irked.

“Do you want Wayne to be your Sugar Daddy?” Mitch raised his brows, and smirked like he was a genius.

“What?” Connor tried to force a scoff. “No.”

In unison, both Dylan and Mitch’s expressions flattened. Cursing himself inwardly, Connor tried to believe his own words, but it was hard when everyone at the table knew he was lying. Dylan didn’t believe Connor. Mitch didn’t believe Connor.

Connor didn’t believe Connor.

Acting as if he was setting up to roast Connor, Mitch placed his coffee carefully to the side. He pulled his sleeves up to his elbows, put one on the tabletop, and pointed an index finger at Connor. For a long moment, Mitch just stared at him, brows high, and expression incredulous. Connor waited for the flaming he was about to receive, because once Mitch got going he wouldn't stop until he stopped. There was a lot Mitch could touch on too; the age difference, Connor being a twink at best, and the irony of Wayne choosing Connor.

What Mitch started with was: “So, Wayne Gretzky wants to be your Sugar Daddy, and you’re freaking out—shit, I’ll do it! We could shave back my hairline, and pretend I’m you!”

Dylan swatted Mitch’s shoulder, and stage-whispered, “Don’t make fun of his five-head, he can’t help it.”

“You actually think I’m letting anyone touch my hair?” Mitch snipped back. “You’re lucky I’m letting you look at it.”

Something boiled up in Connor, and the ugly, petty monster reared back. “Try Wendel Clark if you want to fuck an ‘old man’ so badly.” Instantly, Connor slapped his hand over his mouth. He didn’t know where that came from, but it was the most telling thing he’d said all afternoon.

“I don’t know if I should be hurt, or proud of you,” Mitch responded, wide eyed.

“Maybe, you should give it a shot. You’re only young once,” Dylan said, too casual, then sipped his latte.

If this was his support system, Connor told himself, it looked like he had everything to gain.

Connor loved his messes.


End file.
